


Better When It's Worse

by Val_Creative



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Sexual Fantasy, Underage Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 04:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't cry out. Not with fingers so tight.  /Set after "Satisfaction".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better When It's Worse

  
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" _Tim_ …"

It's Dick's voice, taken from archives and filed away for safekeeping; the audio tweaked just a percent higher, _younger_.

He closes his eyes, reclines back on the spare mattress. It's not home. It doesn't have his posters or his music collection. Heroes don't focus on indulging on their side-lives. The Cave and the spare room, embedded with twenty or more different security measures, he's sure of it, isn't home without his dad. But Tim makes due.

A fizzle of a static image before it clears up to something more solid, more real. The previous Robin, _his_ Robin stands before him. Fully costumed, straight and tall like the good soldier he had been, with that sharp-witted, cocky smile plastered all over the live-feed, over the newspapers. A better Robin, perhaps.

He imagines the pressing weight of body-armor spreading over him, soaked through with perspiration, the heat-familiar and living flesh of another person caught inside. The intimacy. _We're the same. We want the same things. Jason, teach me._ Tim's hands methodically peel away his sweat-dried, red tunic, hands and fingertips too cold from the air-conditioning.

Far too cold. Buried deep beneath the moldy earth. Too far from _him_.

"Jay…" he whimpers, nickname slipping from his lips when Tim's fingers touch over, shaping his neck, using his other hand to palm over the faint bump of erection in his leggings. _Teach me_. He works himself to fullness, under the dead eyes of the hologram. It, _he_ smiles, repeats Tim's name with such deliberation, and the teenager groans out breathy as a response, tightening the pressure of his gauntlet-fingers on his throat. _Don't deserve this. Don't deserve you._

A dribble of pre-come wets Tim's fingers, lessening the burn of chaffing with a little slick-slide, but it's not worth bothering with relief.

He wants to _feel_. Wants to feel those strong hands he could only imagine _punishing_ him, holding him down and bruising him, snatching away the oxygen from his lungs. Jason's smiling, cocky mouth traveling his hipbone, licking and sucking kisses to the ridge, biting, _marking_ him.

The lightheaded, fluttery tingle in his stomach, behind his eyes and dizzily spinning his head sank to the stiff mattress. It all edges on the building pleasure, on Tim jacking himself with increasing speed and ferocity, like he wishes to go numb from it, and the pressure of his hand choking his own throat.

 _Asphyxiation_ , his textbook explains. Cerebral neurochemistry. Dopamine. β-endorphin. Neurotransmitters. 5-hydroxytryptamine.

It's close, what he wants, what he feels, so _close_ and edging.

Tim's tongue feels heavy inside his mouth.

 _Jason_.

He can't cry out. Not with fingers so tight, the jerky, hurried movements under his uniform.

His eyes flick over to the hologram, over the red and black, over his trim, muscular features, where his midsection narrows towards his hips, and it's an _ill_ want. Something he never had, never would have, something he idolized with every sparking, human fiber but never _met_. Wanted to latch onto, absorb and _understand_ (an expansion of bare skin, push against, Jason's blood-cracked nails scratching him, everywhere, _everywhere_ , feel everywhere)…

The space of his abdomen _warming_. Fluid. His vision graying out, as each pulse sounds louder in his eardrums. Grip loosening on his spasming throat.

" _Tim_ …"

 

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End file.
